Riverside Reflections
by Vermouth
Summary: Despite him being her Defence Against the Dark Arts Teacher, Lily Evans found herself impossibly attracted to the dark and handsome Professor Potter. L/J, AU, updates might be slow.


**Prologue**

**Il Nous Restera Toujours Paris**

Christmas is a time when you are supposed to be with your family, a time of forgiving and understanding. A time for leaving petty arguments aside and enjoying building snowmen in the backyard. Christmas is a time for smiles and patience; a time when a mother looks at her daughter in pride and when a father realises he admires his son. A time when brother and sister stop bickering and fall asleep near the Christmas tree. It's a time when the family dog comes into the house dressed as a reindeer and licks the children's faces; a time when the father dresses as Santa Claus and laughs merrily when his children are squealing with joy on his knees, while the mother watches them with happy tears in her eyes.

Christmas is a time when people forget their colour of the skins or their language. It's a time when it doesn't matter if you are tall or small, if you are the Belle of the Ball or the shy girl who reads and dreams about fairy tales. Christmas is a time when the handsome and popular boy reaches down to help the picked-on nerd and shakes his hand in camaraderie. It's a time when old grudges are forgotten and new promises made.

Christmas is the time for love; it's when people can say "I love you" and taste freedom. It's when old lovers meet secretly again and when new lovers dance together for the first time. At Christmas, it snows; and magic happens when snow falls.

**-oOoOoOoOo-**

A distant thunder echoed over the horizon, briefly illuminating the snowed city below where few lights could be seen. The winds were fierce and unforgiving; they howled and lashed out at the terrified people walking through the streets, swirling and twirling and laughing and always whispering dark secrets. The skies were pitch-black and foreboding, clustered with clouds that raged over them. Below, the dark and majestic river assaulted the wilted and lonely plants on the shore, drowning small pebbles into its depths. The delicate and graceful snowflakes that fell from the skies weren't allowed to hover playfully, but were pushed and crushed and forced to become part of the white nothingness that covered the ground.

Any other night, any other time when nature hadn't decided to unleash its cruel temper on the earth below you would expect people to be out, children running in happiness and having snowball fights while the parents smiled at them from afar; young adults making their last shopping trips and young couples promising they would love each other until death did them part. But everything while eerily derelict and cold; and beyond the howling winds, the wrath of the thunder and the fury of the river, only the weak and muffled sobs that came from a girl who was crying her heart out in the most famous tower in the city could be heard.

Her name was Lily Evans and she was France: majestic, proud, witty, fiery, sophisticated, passionate, with a touch of insanity. She had dark red hair and she fought fiercely for what she believed in. She had deep green eyes that shone brightly at every moment. She had been filled with life and hope; now was fifteen and heartbroken. She was the epitome of teenage innocence.

Strands of auburn hair were blowing against the wind; her elbows perched atop the cold and dark metal bar. The top of her head was covered by a thick woolly hat, while most of her face was hidden behind a thick green scarf. She had her arms crossed and her gloved hands tucked under her winter coat. She was shivering, but she didn't really care. She welcomed the harsh winter in Paris, so imposing it made her small and irrelevant, as if she could disappear at any given time.

It was Christmas, and she hated Christmas. Every year when the holidays drew closer upon her, she secluded herself and started losing her vitality. It hadn't always been so: once upon a time, she had loved the Yuletide Season. She had been young, carefree and wild. She had ran and jumped and danced along the snowed lanes of the Parc de Luxembourg with her parents and sister. She had received her first kiss in front of the Champs Élysées two twenty-fifths of December ago; awkward and messy as it had been, her heart had fluttered with joy. Three years before, she had crashed a party in some fancy boat to prove a point: that Lily Evans was fearless. One Christmas ago, her family had dealt a devastating blow, and she stopped enjoying the simple joys the holidays brought. This Christmas, she was being torn from everything she knew.

She sighed and looked down. The view was nothing short of magnificent from the Eiffel Tower. She could with one swift look take in all the grandeur of the ville des lumières and feel at home. She could let her body slip, it was so easy, but she was neither brave nor scared enough to do so.

She was Lily Evans, and at the moment, life couldn't get any worse for her.

'Bonsoir,' said a deep voice behind her.

Lily spun around as fast as her frozen body allowed her to. 'B-bonsoir monsieur,' she stuttered through her chattering teeth.

The figure approached her slowly and came to rest his arms on the metal bar next to Lily. She inspected him discreetly. He was also bundled in layers of clothing to escape the harsh and bitter cold, so only his eyes behind his stylish glasses were seen. He was tall and broad-shouldered and from the glint in his eyes, he seemed to be as broken as her. He was older than her, but not too much, perhaps four or five years.

'C'est joli, n'est-ce pas?' he asked quietly beside her.

Lily smiled inwardly. Yes, the sight was beautiful, but that wasn't why she had come there. 'Oui, c'est bien joli. Mais ce que j'aime, c'est la tranquillité. Ici, je peux tout oublier, être moi-même.'

He looked at her blankly, and she wondered why. For some odd reason, she felt like she needed this boy, this total stranger to understand her. Perhaps it was because he had found her at her secret hideout, the place she went when she needed to be alone and disappear. Perhaps it was because she needed some understanding company.

'Er, could you repeat that? I'm sorry, I'm not French,' he said sheepishly and she could imagine he was grinning under his scarf.

Lily cringed at him. He was British, from the same country she was trying to forget. His accent was soft and posh, with a small drawl. He was the perfect example of the Received Standard English, and Lily thought that he would make a good teacher because of that. It was cool, suave and sophisticated all over. It was the prime example of British, it was overwhelming.

'Are you alright? Do you speak English?' he asked, drawing her face close to hers.

Lily flushed scarlet, he was so close she could see and count each of the thick black eyelashes that adorned his eyes.

'Er, yes, I'm okay,' she stammered, trying to pass off her nervousness as cold.

He glanced at her for a couple of seconds, recognising her accent as British and turned his head back to the icy city without asking any questions. Minutes passed by and neither said a word, as if they had reached a mutual understanding. Lily enjoyed that, being able to stand there in the frozen cold in the middle of the night, with a silent stranger by her side. She felt comfortable, as if she could let go of her Lily Evans persona and just – just be there.

Below her, he could see a woman strolling around the base of the tower, a gigantic dog running around. Lily sighed, it was a happy view. They seemed happy and without a care in the world. She only wished she could be like that.

She decided to be reckless and bold, she was scared and in need of a friendly voice. 'How are you supposed to feel when you are forced to leave everything behind and are thrown into a new world away from home?' she asked quietly, small warm tears rolling down her cheeks. She stretched her arms and shivered, the cold winds trying to crack her skin.

'France is my home, not Britain' she whimpered, her lower lip trembling.

'Not too fond of the British, are you?' the man said, breaking the silence between them. 'Myself, I'm not too fond of them either sometimes.'

She shook her head and unglued her eyes from the woman and dog below and turned to face her mysterious companion. 'It's not that,' she uttered, lowering her scarf so she could speak freely. 'It's – it's just difficult. I -' She didn't know how to explain it, she didn't even know if she _wanted_ to open up her heart to a total stranger.

He gave her a knowing smile. 'You are under a lot of strain, and simply let yourself blame it on the one thing that won't make you suffer more. Britain and its inhabitants, in this case.'

She nodded weakly, surprised that he could see right through her. He looked pensive and frozen, even though he tried to hide how cold he was, his slightly shaking hands gave him away. He seemed like a boy who had been through hell and back. He had the deep frown on his face of someone who had spent too much time thinking about problems without solutions.

He surprised her by taking one of her gloved hands. She felt a sudden warmth spread over her. His hand was large and comfortable, as if he had used it many times to comfort people. It was awkward for her, but also very welcome. It was frightening and endearing and the same time; and Lily felt as if it was her first day in a new school: exhilarating, yet so scary.

'Sometimes, even though it's hard, you have to go with the tide,' he reflected, his eyes on the skies above. 'There are many things that we can't stop, and trying to do so would only cause us further pain.'

Bundled up as he was in his heavy winter garments, Lily could see that he had a small smile on his lips. Her eyes inspected his face. He had the dazed look of someone who had seen too much in a very short time, slightly weary, a little overwhelmed and confused. He had strong jaws, and Lily was sure that they were a sign of a very strong character. It was too dark to be sure, but she thought she could see a small stubble. He was a stranger, and despite being so very British, he was endearing, pensive and as crazy as her to be at the top of the Eiffel Tower at four in the morning.

He pulled at her hand, bringing her out of her thoughts. He smiled kindly at her, his hand never leaving hers.

'Sometimes, you need to give people a chance,' he said patiently, rubbing his thumb over her palm. 'If you think the world is out to get you, you will _survive_ in fear and forget to live.'

Lily remained silent, listening to him in rapt attention. It was soothing and exactly what she needed: understanding and yet not patronizing, collected yet reaching towards her.

'Sometimes, starting anew is the best chance you can have: make a new life, in a new place, choose who you want to be,' he continued, pouring serene tranquility in his words. 'And if that doesn't work, you can set all of Britain on fire,'

Lily chuckled. He was trying to cheer her up and she knew it, but he was also giving her a good piece of advice, and she felt incredibly grateful towards that Muggle boy. She felt hopeful and with renewed determination, she would follow his words.

'You look frozen,' he whispered and pulled her into an embrace. 'We should be leaving sometime soon, or else we will be two ice statues in the morning.'

She uttered a muffled sound on his chest. She was embarrassed, but she was also at ease. It was innocent, just two people seeking warmth. She didn't care that a stranger was hugging her, and she didn't care that she had wrapped her arms around him. For a fleeting instant, all of her fears faded away and she felt lighter and younger than she had in a very long time. It was as appealing as Saturday mornings, when you allow your body to relax after the strain of a tedious week, when you could gaze over the window and bask in the glory of liberty and relaxation.

She lifted her head to look at him. 'What is your name?' she asked, her eyes glinting with curiosity.

The Muggle boy smiled sadly at her and placed a hand on her cheek, his thumb doing circular patterns on her cold skin. He seemed worn and forlorn, but his eyes were still twinkling at her, as if she had given him something to look forward to just by being there.

'It's James, but it doesn't matter. Tomorrow, I'll be nothing else than a memory for you.'

She wanted to scream at him that that wasn't true, and that she really wanted to know his name because she would never forget him, but the look in his eyes shut her up, she could only stare at him, mesmerized.

She didn't know how it happened or why, but without a second's warning, he lowered his head and brushed his lips against hers ever so softly, so delicately Lily thought she may have imagined it. It sent tingles down her spine and blew all thought from her mind. It was far away from perfect, but she wanted as much of that imperfection as she could get.

James was England: cold, dark, proud, wise, statuesque, raw. Lily realised that if Britain had more men and women like James, it couldn't be such a bad place.

Much later, when the sun was rising over the horizon, they parted ways silently, barely acknowledging each other, but both knowing that was a memory they would never erase. Sometimes, complete strangers can get closer to our hearts and understand us better than any close friend or relative could. The freedom that contact with a kindred spirit allows is unparalleled, because you don't have to restrain yourself, you don't need to hold back for the sake of appearances. You can just be yourself and breathe.

Just breathe.


End file.
